Off the Record
by K. R. Hardison
Summary: Starting at the beginning of Season 7, the story of Ziva's return to NCIS and how things are now different. Some pretty blatant Tiva.
1. What did he see?

Off the Record

Ch. 1 – What did he see?

Silence filled the elevator, suffocated its occupants. Tony made some comment that she did not quite hear, and then the doors were open. Too fast. And they all walked into more silence that quickly erupted into a loud cacophony of clapping. Ziva froze. The shock of the last few months quickly advanced on her current position, and she wanted to hide. Then she was. To her surprise, Abby's arms wrapped around her food-deprived body, and she felt safe, hidden from view. Someone walked from behind her, and as he walked to and settled behind his desk, Ziva could not stop staring. She quickly realized that he stared right back. She wondered, "What did he see?"

She felt his hand on the small of her back guiding her, before she heard Gibbs' voice whispering into her ear, "We need to write your report." She fell in line, letting him guide her, the obedient soldier, the dutiful daughter.

Too soon, she found herself in Interrogation 1. Under different circumstances, she would be offended, but not now, not under these. Looking at her reflection in the two-way mirror, she was startled by what she saw, the dirt, the bruises. Suddenly, she thought she felt his eyes watching her through the glass, and again she wondered to herself, "What did he see?"

She jumped a bit when the door to her left opened. Gibbs entered carrying a glass of water, a pen, and a notepad. "Just write it all down," he said softly, not explaining to her what "it" was, knowing that she already knew.

How long she took, she did not know, there were no clocks in the interrogation rooms of NCIS, but when she had filled ten pages front and back and finished her glass of water, she addressed the empty room with more certainty than she felt, "Done."

Tony walked in a minute later; he silently took the notepad from her and turned towards the door. "Are you coming?" he added over his shoulder as he exited the room.

Ziva quickly followed behind, but with her confidence shaken, she did not know what to say; she followed in silence. As they walked, she studied him. His stride remained unbroken, one arm lay in a sling, but the other hung freely at his side. No serious injury, she deduced, and was the gladder for it.

Once they reached the bullpen, Tony stopped and turned to face her, and there they all were, her family. Some looked happy, others relieved, and others she could not read. She decided not to look them in the face, too afraid of what she would see, too afraid of what they would see in her. She watched as Tony passed her notepad to Gibbs, who only briefly glanced at it before asking, "So, where are you going to stay tonight?"

"What do you mean?" Ziva had not thought about this. She had thought about many things since being literally rescued, but this thought had not come up.

"Ziva it's late. You look tired," Gibbs explained.

"Yeah, and you may have forgotten, but your apartment exploded before you left for Israel," McGee added, trying to put it as nicely as possible, only realizing after he said it that Ziva had probably not forgotten it.

"Ziva can stay with me," Abby chimed in clearly excited.

Ziva felt brain dead, as if the terrorists had killed the decision-making processes in her brain. Her eyes remained trained on the floor, not wanting to show them her fear. She did not know if they expected her to respond. Was there a choice? Tony's eyes held in her place; she could not see them but she felt them. They had not left her face since the discussion began.

Gibbs realized after a few moments of silence that Ziva was not going to make the decision. "Sounds great, Abby. Do you need a ride?"

"No, Gibbs. I got this," she said with a smile. Stepping forward and linking arms with Ziva, Abby began to lead her towards the elevator.

Ziva's eyes finally rose as she walked past Tony, who still stared. She really did want to know, what did he see?


	2. Moving out

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, but sometimes I like to steal *cough* I mean borrow.

Thank you to everyone who is reading thus far. This is my first NCIS fanfic, and I don't really know where it is going, but I will try to update daily. Any comments/productive criticisms are welcome!

Ch. 2 Moving Out

Ziva sat crossed-legged on Abby's couch. Her back straight, her head bent so that her eyes could better read the book that perched on her lap. She did not know why she read it; perhaps, because she had nothing better to do with her time. She no long claimed the title of Mossad Officer or Mossad Liaison, and she could only pray to one day be called an NCIS Agent.

Meanwhile, Abby continued work as usual; everyone continued work as usual, just as she imagined it had happened four months ago when she decided to not return from Israel. Ziva would not wish things any differently, but she felt bored and, loathed to admit it, a bit lonely. "The dependence on others for emotional well-being is a weakness," her father's voice echoed inside her, yet she began to see the flaws in his judgment.

After three long days of residence on Abby's couch, Ziva felt she had exhausted all boredom "cures". The book, now present on her lap, had come home with Abby from work after the first day of Ziva's inhabitance.

"Courtesy of McGee," Abby had said, placing it in front of Ziva on the coffee table. When Ziva opened her mouth to question further, Abby placed a DVD on the coffee table next to the book, saying "Courtesy of Tony."

Ziva's mouth snapped shut as a thousand different thoughts raced through her brain; Abby stood there for a moment wishing that she possessed the power of telepathy, before deciding that if Ziva really wanted Abby to know, she would just tell Abby.

"Gibbs and everyone have been told by our dear Director Vance not to report for duty for at least four days. Gibbs of course refused, so instead Tony and McGee have been forced to write their reports at home during their allotted downtime. Apparently, everyone had quite a bit to say, but I told them I would not be their Pony Express, so they summed up their emotions with 'Hi'. Oh, and Tony and McGee practically begged for you to call them," Abby paused for air and noticed that Ziva's eyes darted away from the coffee table and to her face at the last statement. "Okay, maybe 'begged' is a strong word, but I know they would really like to hear from you…when you're ready."

Ziva's responded with a nod and the one-way conversation ended.

Dinner that night had been pleasurable enough. Ziva cooked and Abby talked, both seemed pleased with this arrangement. After dinner, they watched the movie that Tony had sent, a black and white piece about a man letting the woman he love board a plane to leave him forever, which Abby had explained to Ziva meant that he _really_ loved her, though Ziva could not understand the reasoning behind his actions. Ziva fell asleep on Abby's shoulder before the movie ended, and Abby tucked her in with the spare blanket and pillow that Ziva had placed that morning on the chair next to the couch.

Two days went by, and a routine developed between the roommates. Abby left work before Ziva woke up, and while she was gone, Ziva cleaned the apartment before settling on the couch to read McGee's book.

The book was an odd choice, Ziva thought. A mystery set in Iceland about a man whose son that he never knew existed comes back to kill him for passing along to the son, and thus the son's daughter, a terminal illness. Ziva did not know if McGee meant anything by sending this particular book. Did he mean that Ziva should kill her father for passing along his own injurious traits, like the inability to trust anyone but family, or Mossad (which in Ziva's family was the same thing)? After a few minutes pondering this, imagining the different ways she could kill her father, Ziva decided that McGee had not intended harm when he sent her the book and meant only to send a book that she would enjoy, probably something that he had enjoyed when he read it.

When she read the last sentence of the book on her third night in Abby's apartment, Ziva felt unsatisfied, as if the book had ended unfinished. "I suppose that that is how life is sometimes, unfinished," she thought to herself and fell into another one of her long deep silences spent pondering. Finally the ring of her newly acquired cell phone (a gift from Gibbs) broke up her thoughts

"Hi Ziva!" she heard Abby's voice cry with enthusiasm as she placed the phone to her ear.

"Hello, Abby," she replied with less enthusiasm though not for lack of feeling.

"I just wanted to let you know that I can't come home tonight. Special Agent Barnes' team just dumped a whole load of evidence onto my plate for processing, so I'm gonna be here all night. With no CafPow!, I might add."

Relief spread through Ziva. Her thoughts just before the phone rang had led her to form a plan which she needed to set in motion immediately, and informing Abby of her plan would be easier over the phone. "It is okay Abby. I have decided that I must fix what I have broken. The first step is to stand on my own feet once more. In doing so, I must stop relying on you so much, and I must move out."

Abby was stunned and remained silent for a few beats. "Ziva, I don't think that's –"

However, whatever she thought, Ziva would not know; her mind was made up. "Abby, I must do this. I will have my cell phone if you need to reach me. Thank you for everything that you have done for me."

"You're welcome, Ziva," Abby replied sounding like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. Not that Ziva thought she was Abby's favorite toy, but she knew that Abby had enjoyed her company while she had stayed here, almost as much as Ziva had enjoyed hers. "Call me tomorrow!"

"This I will do," she said with a smile closing the phone in the process. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the possessions that made up her now Spartan existence. She packed quickly and efficiently, part of her Mossad training, and within ten minutes, only two items remained unpacked. The book and the DVD lay side by side on the coffee table almost exactly in the same position as when Abby laid them there two days ago. With a small smile, Ziva picked up the DVD, adding it to her possessions, and left the book on the table. She reasoned that she had already finished and gotten what she needed from it, and also, that Abby may soon need something to read.


	3. Moving in

Disclaimer: If I owned even one iota of this, I would have a nicer car, not a 2000 nissan maxima with dents on every surface.

Thanks to everyone for reading! If anyone was wondering, the movie from the last chapter was "Casablanca" and the book was "Jar City" by Arnaldur Indridason. Both great of course. Reviews appreciated and paid for with smiles and winks!

* * *

Ch. 3 - Moving in

"This is Vance," he answered so quickly that Ziva had not heard the phone ring on her end. She wondered if he had heard it on his end, or if he instinctively knew when a call would come in and picked up the phone prior to its ring. Either way, Ziva was impressed.

"Director, this is Ziva -"

"Ah, Officer David, I was expecting your call," he interrupted.

Ziva was so shocked by his statement that she forgot to remind him that she no longer needed to be called 'officer'. How could he possibly expect her call, before she decided to make it? "Director, I wondered if you knew of someplace that I could stay while my report is processed."

"I thought you would have called Gibbs."

Vance's boldness annoyed Ziva a bit, mostly because his insight hit a little too close to home. "Yes, well, as you can tell, that did not happen. I am asking you."

Vance sighed, obviously a bit upset that she did not take the bait. Leon Vance realized that Eli David's daughter was just as guarded as her father, "You'll be happy to know, Officer David, that I already put a call into the base commander at the Navy Yard. He mentioned that he had an opening at the navy lodgings there, and it's yours if you'd like it."

"Yes. Thank you, Director," Ziva replied, hanging up the phone and tucking it into the rucksack slung over her shoulder as she hailed a cab to her next destination.

When she arrived at the navy yard, the guards were expecting her. Of course, Director Vance had felt the need to call ahead. They directed her taxi to the lodgings, and when they pulled up to building, the Director's assistant stood at the curb, obviously sent on an errand for the boss.

"Hello, Officer David," she said as Ziva stepped out of the cab. Ziva nodded her hello, while handing the cab driver his fare. "The Director asked me to bring down your key. You're in room forty-two; it'll be on the first floor, on your right."

Ziva had not realized when she spoke to the Director earlier that he was still at work. "Thank you," she replied accepting the proffered key before his assistant returned to her office.

She remained deep in thought about where the Director had been in NCIS all the way through the navy lodging building to her room, which was indeed on the right. She had heard no hum of office personnel in the background, no signs that he was working anywhere near people during the time of their call. Suddenly, as she opened the door to her new home, she realized that he must have been in MTAC. Her curiosity piqued, she wondered what business lay in MTAC, and if it was anything that would be worked on by her team; well, not her team anymore.

The room before Ziva horrified her. A small kitchenette lay to the right of the entranceway, and what could only be a substitute for a living room lay directly ahead. To the left of the entranceway stood a doorway that Ziva only assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom. Whoever the navy had chosen for interior decorating apparently decided on using the full spectrum of wallpapers, carpets, and upholsteries that were supposed to remind the guest of the home they left behind, in warm reds and browns. Instead the room looked like someone vomited mismatched floral patterns over every surface.

Quickly, Ziva erased all her negative thoughts about the room. Months had passed since she had had a roof over her head and bed to call her own. These lodgings provided that, thus she would appreciate them.

She quickly unpacked what little she brought with her and settled cross-legged onto the couch. The DVD from Tony lay on the small coffee table in front of the couch by her left hand, and her cell phone lay by her right hand. She _should_ call him...to thank him. That is what the normal person would do.

"Hello, Tony. I just called to thank your for the lovely movie that you sent to me," Ziva practiced to the empty room. "Does that not sound foolish?" she added to herself, and slumped down into the couch.

_This should not be as hard as it is_, she thought to herself as she continued to stare at the coffee table. She did not really want to talk about the movie, and he would know that she did not really want to talk about the movie when she called. Instead of calling him, of saying to him what needed to be said, she sat alone in navy lodgings, in the silence, staring at her phone, and if she thought about it long enough, scared. Scared of what she would say, or of what he would say, or maybe what would continue to remain unsaid between them. Scared of how her return, or maybe it was her original absence, or maybe even the events that led up to her absence, changed things between them, between all of them. Then, she remembered Ari once saying to her, "Courage is the power to let go of the familiar, Ziva, the power to embrace change." He said that just before his final mission with Hamas, just before she killed him.

As if the memory of Ari had fanned a flame that now burned in her chest, Ziva sat up suddenly and grabbed her phone, dialing from memory.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. _Please, pick up, _she begged.

And then -- "Gibbs."

"Gibbs, I..." and that is where Ziva's strength failed her.

"Tomorrow, 0730," he replied after a few beats, and then hung up without waiting for her response.

Ziva let out the breath that she did not realize she was holding and slumped back onto the couch, mentally preparing herself for what lay in store for her at 0730.

* * *

The quote about courage is by: Raymond Lindquist, which I found by googling 'gibbs quotes about courage or bravery ncis' funnily enough.


	4. Hazardous Drill

Disclaimer: I own no characters, I own other stuff, but not the characters, or the premise, or the Washington Navy Yard, or maybe I really do own nothing.

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! I'll try and keep 'em coming. Is everyone enjoying the direction its taking?

* * *

Ch. 4 – A Hazardous Drill, aka What made Ziva late for her meeting w/ Gibbs

When reveille sounded at zero-six hundred, Ziva had been awake for over an hour. She had already jogged around the Navy Yard in semi-darkness and completed her morning routine of sit-ups and push-ups. Having forgotten to pick up any food for breakfast on her way to the lodgings, she sat for five minutes wondering if she would have time to stop somewhere for breakfast before her meeting with Gibbs. When those first familiar notes began, she decided, yes, she did have time, if she did not waste anymore of it on this uncomfortable couch.

She quickly strode from the living room to the bathroom where she started the shower. Stepping in, she felt the warm spray slide over her shoulders and down her back, letting all the tension travel with the water down the drain. Taking a handful of shampoo, she began to massage it into her scalp, forgetting for a moment that she was operating under a time constraint.

A loud noise from the hallway accompanied by shouting caused Ziva's eyes to snap open. Quickly, she ran her hair under the water again, realizing that more than half of the shampoo remained. She toweled off, grabbing a sheathed knife from the bathroom counter and strapping it to her ankle before pulling on a pair of sweats that she had laid on the toilet seat prior to stepping into the shower; then, she pulled her hair back in a severe ponytail to keep it out of her face. _Too slow_, she thought, when she realized it had taken her 45 seconds to finish, and then she wished for a gun.

Slowly and carefully, she inched open the door to her room to get a better angle on the hallway. In the middle of the hallway stood a Petty Officer in full fatigues, he appeared to be the source for all the yelling. Directions issued in a loud baritone were being hurled at the lodgings' residents who were slowly filing out of their rooms.

"This is only a drill, please proceed to the exit and board the appropriate bus out front," Ziva heard him bellowing over the heads of the crowd.

Ziva approached still on alert. "Excuse me, Petty Officer, but what is happening?"

"A hazardous chemical spill drill, ma'am. Please just follow the guidelines that were given to you upon check-in and this should take no longer than an hour," he replied.

"An hour!?" Ziva silently cursed the Director for not informing her of the drill yesterday; she could have left long before. "I do not have an hour, Petty Officer. Is this hazardous drill entirely necessary?"

"Ma'am," he began as he turned to face her, "The Washington Navy Yard lies very close to several major interstate highways that from time-to-time do carry hazardous waste and chemicals. These navy lodgings choose to be prepared for any and all emergencies."

"Sounds like the Tzofim," Ziva stated under her breath with a tone of annoyed surrender. When, the Petty Officer responded with a confused look, she added, "_Heye nachon_, or as you say, 'Be prepared.'"

"I believe you're thinking of the boy scouts, ma'am," the Petty Officer stated with a smirk.

Ziva decided that he had no right to correct her; he was **not** Tony. "I believe I am not," she snapped back, but then realized she was overreacting and gently added, "What do I need to do for this hazardous drill?"

For forty-five minutes, Ziva found herself seated on bus parked in front of the lodgings next to a twelve-year-old whose hands seemed to be permanently attached to the Nintendo DS in his hands. She checked her watch no less than thirty times making sure to sigh heavily and audibly each time. What this hazardous drill accomplished other than aggravating her and making her late to her meeting with Gibbs, Ziva could not see.

When she was finally allowed back into her room, Ziva spent fifteen minutes trying to rinse the now dried shampoo out of hair once more, before calling a cab to take her to Gibbs'. She hastily threw on a more professional outfit and sprinted out of the building to wait for the cab on the curb.

If she was lucky, she thought, she would be no more than ten minutes late; though, Ziva did not feel particularly lucky today. The only silver-lining she could see is that Gibbs would be equally angry whether she was ten minutes late or an hour.

* * *

The scene that directly follows this can be found in NCIS season 7 episode 2. It takes place in Gibbs' basement. I will allude to it in the next chapter, but I will not be writing it.


End file.
